


Who’s to Blame?

by filamero



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team SMP Lore (Video Blogging RPF), FUCK YOU SHELBY YOU MADE ME SAD, Family Dynamics, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Not Beta Read, Sam is a creeper hybrid, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Warden Sam | Awesamdude, but i think it’s cool, how do i even tag this it just happened today, i literally spedrun this, it’s there for like one line, no beta we die like wilbur, so here you go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29788995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filamero/pseuds/filamero
Summary: When something happens, an instinct is to pin the blame on someone.And when there’s no one else to point to other than yourself, then what?—After hearing about the death of TommyInnit, at the hands of Dream in the prison nonetheless, Sam is caught in a web of his own emotions.
Relationships: Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit
Comments: 11
Kudos: 159





	Who’s to Blame?

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys say thanks to @/karlsbeetles on twitter for giving me this idea and the strength to write it <3
> 
> i kid you not, this was written in like...an hour, so i apologize for any mistakes!!

Sam blames himself.

He knows that it’s not...reasonable to think so, per se. 

But he also knows that he was the closest, if not the only, person who could’ve stopped it. 

He didn’t listen when Tommy begged him to let him out of the prison, banging on the walls and screaming at the top of his lungs from his desperation. He told him that it was for security reasons, that it was for the safety of the rest of the server against Dream, should something related to the incident happen again.

He wonders why he didn’t realize that at that moment, in his worry for keeping Dream contained and everyone else safe, he was putting Tommy in danger.

And that mistake was paid with a life, weighing heavy on his steps as he sprinted back to the prison. He told himself that it wasn’t true, at first. That the message displayed on his communicator had been a glitch on his own end—whether it was something faulty on his own or something had messed with the signal that kept everyone connected. The lava of the prison couldn’t have felt any slower, and for the first time, his chest didn’t swell with a certain pride at his building abilities. His feet made him stand impossibly close to the edge of the beginning platform, warmth bursting on his face to the point of it being unbearable—yet, frankly, he didn’t care. 

As the lava barrier grew thinner and thinner, Sam found himself praying, _begging_ ( ~~the way Tommy had screamed at him earlier~~ ) to whatever otherworldly being controlled the strings of fate that he was getting antsy for nothing.

He had never been so angry at the universe for not listening to his pleas once the lava had fallen away completely. The moving platform could not have moved _any slower_ , and it honestly felt like he had leaped the last few feet to get to ~~Tommy~~ Dream sooner. Instantly, Dream’s collar was bunched up in his fists, pulled close to his face as his anger seethed off of him in sparks and bursts of energy.

And Dream had the _gall_ , the _audacity_ , the _nerve_ to _laugh_ in his face as he demanded what happened.

Sam’s anger had flared so much in his veins that he was drowning in it, his senses clouded beyond belief with the flames that bubbled up in his gut. He had hardly registered anything that was happening in the moment—the strain clawing at his own throat as he raised his voice, yet still silent to his own ears; the angry tears building up in his eyes, threatening to spill over at any given moment; the movement of Dream’s own lips, forever having a smug and victorious look etched onto his features; the hiss of his own body as the patches of green on his skin flickered to white and back, repeatedly.

“Careful,” he remembers Dream’s voice, laced with such fake concern that Sam could tell instantly, “or else you won’t have a body to bury.”

Sam hates to think about how the words had slapped him awake ever-so-bluntly. How it doused him in ice-cold water, extinguishing any flame that had sparked in his being. Ice crept through his veins, replacing the fire that had been coursing through him just moments before. 

He remembers what he promised to himself, back when he had taken up the role of warden. He had promised to never let Dream’s words crawl underneath his skin, to keep him locked up, to keep everyone else safe from him.

The realization that he was shattering that promise too is nothing short of painful and ugly, and added weight on his already weary shoulders.

Sam shakes his head, forcefully pulling himself out of the suffocating ocean of his thoughts.

He thinks of Tommy—how light he seemed despite being a few inches shorter than him, as he carried him out of the cell and through the guard tunnels outside, where he could be properly buried. How bloodied, battered, and bruised he seemed in his last moments, and Sam was left to his imagination whether the pain had haunted him to his last moments or if he had grown dull to the strikes. (And, though it made bile rise up his throat at the thought, he hopes it was the latter, that Tommy died without feeling pain at all. ~~But he knows that the chance of that being what happened was low, nearly impossible.~~ ) How he could still see traces of the fear and struggle cemented on his face even after he had passed, millions of unreadable emotions clawing at his insides.

And as he lays the poor boy into a makeshift coffin and buries him not too far from his favorite bench, where he would sit and celebrate his victories, a sinking feeling began to settle in his chest. Sam can’t wait for a funeral to lay him down to rest, the weight of broken promises—promised, he had promised that Tommy would be under _his_ care, and he wouldn’t let _anything_ bad ever happen to him—pushing him into the ground in such a manner that he isn’t sure whether Tommy is the only one getting buried. He can’t bear to think of his face, to picture an impossibly bright smile replaced by the solemn expression that he had died with.

Sam wonders if this is how Phil felt, holding Wilbur’s dying body in his arms.

A bitter chuckle forces its way past his lips. He and Phil are different. Sure, they had both been responsible for the death of someone they considered dear.

But Phil tried to keep Wilbur alive.

He had left Tommy locked up, signing the deal on his death in the books of fate.

And as the sun sets, Sam can’t erase that heavy feeling in his chest, carving out a crater deeper than the one that resides in place of a country that Tommy used to love so dearly. He finds himself crumbling to his knees as the sun dips below the horizon, the light leaving the world as the guilt, the shame, the sorrow holds him captive.

Sam blames himself.

Is there really anyone else to take that burden?

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! comments and kudos are appreciated [: i am attempting to get back into writing, i can't believe today's stream is what set me off


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